Jan. Week 3: Friday Evening...with Jonathan

Leah parked in the driveway still buzzing from the afterglow of the day’s transgressions. She sat in the driver’s seat an extra minute, hand resting on the steering wheel, watching the street in the fading sunlight. Her breathing had finally returned to normal, but her cheeks still prickled with a nervous heat.

She killed the engine, gathered her bag, and stepped inside the security of her and Jonathan’s house. With the familiar click of the deadbolt, she exhaled, peeling away the layers of being “Miss Williams” and “pornographic **** victim” until it was just Leah again, shuffling mail and kicking off her shoes. The house was silent except for the low hum of the central air unit now pumping heat in the winter cold.

She checked her phone. Jonathan wouldn’t be home for a bit. She had time take a shower and clean up a bit so she did. She could shower in peace, try to scrub off the guilt and sweat and everything else. She poured herself a glass of chardonnay and set it on the bathroom counter. She ran the water hot enough to flush her skin, stripped naked, and tried not to look at herself in the mirror, afraid of what she’d see.

The shower was her only sanctuary—hot, blinding, absolute. Leah turned her face to the spray and let the water drum across her scalp, imagining it erasing the memory of Howard’s fingers, Howard’s cock, Howard’s voice hissing directions in her ear.

{if bbc_janwk3_friday < 0} She tried to block out the idea of Mr. Bill's black cock. {endif} {if bbc_swallow = 1} Tried to erase the memory of swallowing his ivory load of tepid good from his ebony monster. {endif} {if bbc_creampie = 1} She tried wipe away at her lady bits as if it would wash away the knowledge that earlier she had recieved the thick seed of Mr. Bill's cock. {endif}

She soaped her breasts, her thighs, her ass, every inch of herself that he’d touched, until her skin tingled and her hands were shaking from the exertion. She rinsed, wrung out her hair, and watched the suds spiral down the drain.

She was toweling off, still damp and pink-skinned, when she heard the garage door rumble open. She wrapped the towel tight around her chest and exited the master bathroom to find Jonathan’s tall, familiar silhouette as came in the bedroom with a smile. It turned into an eager larger smile when she saw Leah’s condition and lack of attire.

“Hey, babe,” he said looking her up and down almost in shock. Every time he saw her like this he had that same look of amazement.

She hovered in the bathroom doorway, feeling strangely exposed even in the modest length of towel.

“Hey honey, what are you thinking for dinner?” she asked, voice catching on the edge of a nervous laugh.

He finally looked up and grinned, eyes flicking from her face down to her bare legs.

“Not sure yet. But you’re on the menu,” he said with a corny, wolfish leer.

Leah rolled her eyes, but couldn’t suppress a snort. He always knew how to snap her out of a tailspin, whether he meant to or not.

“I should put on some clothes,” she half-heartedly protested, but Jonathan was already crossing the room with the lazy, unhurried confidence of a man who’d won the lottery and never stopped celebrating.